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The Floating Press - Gertrude Atherton

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87 pages

English

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If you like your mysteries served up with a tall order of intrigue, romance, fascinating characters, and engrossing local color, try The Avalanche from author Gertrude Atherton. Set among the affluent upper classes in turn-of-the-century San Francisco, the novel delves into the relationship between a beautiful young woman from France and her ambitious American suitor. It's a satisfying, fully fleshed-out read in which the mystery is just one part of a well-wrought tale.

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 février 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776532490
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE AVALANCHE
* * *
GERTRUDE ATHERTON

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The Avalanche First published in 1919 Epub ISBN 978-1-77653-249-0 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77653-250-6 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Endnotes
*
TO CHARLES HANSON TOWNE
Chapter I
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I
Price Ruyler knew that many secrets had been inhumed by the earthquakeand fire of San Francisco and wondered if his wife's had been one ofthem. After all, she had been born in this city of odd and whisperedpasts, and there were moments when his silent mother-in-law suggested apast of her own.
That there was a secret of some sort he had been progressively convincedfor quite six months. Moreover, he felt equally sure that this impalpablegray cloud had not drifted even transiently between himself and his wifeduring the first year and a half of their marriage. They had beenuncommonly happy; they were happy yet ... the difference lay not in thequality of Hélène's devotion, enhanced always by an outspoken admirationfor himself and his achievements, but in subtle changes of temperamentand spirits.
She had been a gay and irresponsible young creature when he married her,so much so that he had found it expedient to put her on an allowance andask her not to ran up staggering bills in the fashionable shops; whichshe visited daily, as much for the pleasure of the informal encounterwith other lively and irresponsible young luminaries of San Franciscosociety as for the excitement of buying what she did not want.
He had broached the subject with some trepidation, for they had never hada quarrel; but she had shown no resentment whatever, merely an eagerdesire to please him. She even went directly down to the Palace Hotel andreproached her august parent for failing to warn her that a dollar wasnot capable of infinite expansion.
But no wonder she had been extravagant, she told Ruyler plaintively. Ithad been like a fairy tale, this sudden release from the rigideconomies of her girlhood, when she had rarely had a franc in herpocket, and they had lived in a suite of the old family villa on oneof the hills of Rouen, Madame Delano paying her brother for theirlodging, and dressing herself and Hélène with the aid of a halfparalyzed seamstress with a fiery red nose. Ma foi! It was thenightmare of her youth, that nose and that croaking voice. But thewoman had fingers, and a taste! And her mother could have concocted asmart evening frock out of an old window curtain.
But the petted little daughter was never asked to go out and buy a spoolof thread, much less was she consulted in the household economies. Allshe noticed was that her clothes were smarter than Cousin Marthe's, whohad a real dressmaker, and was subject to fits of jealous sulks. Nowonder that when money was poured into her lap out in this wonderfulCalifornia she had assumed that it was made only to spend.
But she would learn! She would learn! She would ask her mother that veryday to initiate her into the fascinating secrets of personal economies,teach her how to portion out her quarterly allowance between herwardrobe, club dues, charities, even her private automobile.
This last heroic suggestion was her own, and although her husbandprotested he finally agreed; it was well she should learn just what itcost to be a woman of fashion in San Francisco, and the allowance wasvery generous. His old steward, Mannings, ran the household, although ashe went through the form of laying the bills before his little mistresson the third of every month, she knew that the upkeep of the SanFrancisco house and the Burlingame villa ran into a small fortune a year.
"It is not that I am threatened with financial disaster," Ruyler had saidto her. "But San Francisco has not recovered yet, and it is impossible tosay just when she will recover. I want to be absolutely sure of myexpenditures."
She had promised vehemently, and, as far as he knew, she had kept herpromise. He had received no more bills, and it was obvious that herhaughty chauffeur was paid on schedule time, until, seized with anothereconomical spasm, she sold her car and bought a small electric which shecould drive herself.
Ruyler, little as he liked his mother-in-law, was intensely grateful toher for the dexterity with which she had adjusted Hélène's mind to thenew condition. She even taught her how to keep books in an elemental wayand balanced them herself on the first of every month. As Hélène Ruylerhad a mind as quick and supple as it was cultivated in les graces , shesoon ceased to feel the chafing of her new harness, although she didsquander the sum she had reserved for three months mere pocket money upona hat; which was sent to the house by her wily milliner on the first dayof the second quarter. She confessed this with tears, and her husband,who thought her feminine passion for hats adorable, dried her tears andtook her to the opening night of a new play. But he did not furnish thepathetic little gold mesh bag, and as he made her promise not to borrow,she did not treat her friends to tea or ices at any of the fashionablerendezvous for a month. Then her native French thrift came to her aid andshe sold a superfluous gold purse, a wedding present, to an enviousfriend at a handsome bargain.
That was ancient history now. It was twenty months since Price hadreceived a bill, and secret inquiries during the past two had satisfiedhim that his wife's name was written in the books of no shop in SanFrancisco that she would condescend to visit. Therefore, this maddeningbut intangible barrier had nothing to do with a change of habit that hadnot caused an hour of tears and sulks. Hélène had a quick temper but agay and sweet disposition, normally high spirits, little apparentselfishness, and a naïve adoration of masculine superiority and strength;altogether, with her high bred beauty and her dignity in public, anenchanting creature and an ideal wife for a busy man of inherited socialposition and no small degree of pride.
But all this lovely equipment was blurred, almost obscured at times, bythe shadow that he was beginning to liken to the San Francisco fogs thatdrifted through the Golden Gate and settled down into the deep hollows ofthe Marin hills; moving gently but restlessly even there, like ghostlyfloating tides. He could see them from his library window, where he oftenfinished his afternoon's work with his secretaries.
But the fog drifted back to the Pacific, and the shadow that encompassedhis wife did not, or rarely. It chilled their ardors, even their serenedomesticity. She was often as gay and impulsive as ever, but with abruptreserves, an implication not only of a new maturity of spirit, but ofwatchfulness, even fear. She had once gone so far as to give voicepassionately to the dogma that no two mortals had the right to be ashappy as they were; then laughed apologetically and "guessed" that theold Puritan spirit of her father's people was coming to life in herGallic little soul; then, with another change of mood, added defiantlythat it was time America were rid of its baneful inheritance, and thatshe would be happy to-day if the skies fell to-morrow. She had flungherself into her husband's arms, and even while he embraced her the eyesof his spirit searched for the girl wife who had fled and left this moresubtly fascinating but incomprehensible creature in her place.
II
The morning was Sunday and he sat in the large window of his library thatoverlooked the Bay of San Francisco. The house, which stood on one of thehighest hills, he had bought and remodeled for his bride. The books thatlined these walls had belonged to his Ruyler grandfather, bought in a daywhen business men had time to read and it was the fashion for a gentlemanto cultivate the intellectual tracts of his brain. The portraits thathung above, against the dark paneling, were the work of his mother'sfather, one of the celebrated portrait painters of his time, and werereplicas of the eminent and mighty he had painted. Maharajas, kings,emperors, famous diplomats, men of letters, artists of his own smallclass, statesmen and several of the famous beauties of their brief day;these had been the favorite grandson's inheritance from Masewell Price,and they made an impressive frieze, unique in the splendid homes of thecity of Ruyler's adoption.
He had brought them from New York when he had decided to live inCalifornia, and hung them in his bachelor quarters. He had soon made uphis mind that he must remain in San Francisco for at least ten years ifhe would maintain the business he had rescued from the disaster of 1906at the level where he had, by the severest application of his life,placed it by the end of 1908. Meanwhile he had grown to like SanFrancisco better than he would have believed possible when he arrived inthe wrecked city, still smoking, and haunted with the subtle odors offires that had consumed more than products of the vegetable kingdom.
The vast ruin with its tottering arches and broken columns, its lonelywalls looking as if bitten by prehistoric monsters that must haunt thisancient coast, the soft pastel colors the great fire had given as solecompensation for all it had taken, the grotesque twisted masses of steeland the aged gray hills that had looked down on so many fires, hadappealed powerful